


The Stupid Striptease One

by Jiksa



Category: BBC Radio 1 RPF, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Embarrassment, Lack of Communication, M/M, Silly, Stripping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-19
Updated: 2020-01-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:47:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22315807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jiksa/pseuds/Jiksa
Summary: Harry takes his clothes off and accidentally says the wrong thing.
Relationships: Nick Grimshaw/Harry Styles
Comments: 6
Kudos: 44





	The Stupid Striptease One

**Author's Note:**

> What is says on the tin? idek what this is. /o\

They sit on Nick’s bed after, Harry’s face hidden in his hands as Nick tries desperately to stop himself from just making a run for it. Second-hand embarrassment isn’t really in Nick’s repertoire, not really, _and yet_.

Harry won’t take his hands off his face, which Nick is secretly kind of happy about, because at least it means he doesn’t have to look him in the eye.

Nick opens his mouth to say something, because _someone_ should, but Harry cuts him off with a muffled, “Don’t. Don’t even. Stop.”

Running might be Nick’s best option, all things considered. Harry slouches even deeper, pressing his face and hands into his lap and curling into himself. Nick should— he should say something. Someone should say something.

Nick barely takes a breath before Harry’s cutting him off again. “ _Actually_ stop. This is the fucking worst thing that has ever happened, stop talking.”

Well, then. Nick takes a moment to survey the disaster on the floor, the curtains pooled by the window, the smashed lamp, the torn shirt, the spatter of red wine across the bedding. 

It looks a bit like a crime scene.

“So we finally found something you’re bad at,” he says lightly, wincing at Harry’s answering whine, a muffled sound that sounds much like _please shut the fuck up_. “That’s okay. I’m bad at lots of things. I’m bad at… flower arranging.” He tries to keep his voice level. “Maintaining healthy adult relationships. Flossing twice a day.”

Harry raises his head from his hands, his face twisted in disbelief. He’s still so flushed, the bruise on his cheekbone tinged a faint purple. “This is you comforting me?”

“Very bad at flossing,” Nick tries, forcing a tight smile that feels more like a grimace. “Only ever do it at night.”

“Oh my _god_.”

“I might also be quite bad at stripp—” Nick tries to say before Harry full-on shoves him off the bed. His tailbone smarts against a pile of books that used to be neatly stacked on the nightstand. “ _Ow_.”

“Don’t say that word,” Harry warns. “Stop it.”

“Haz, it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.”

“It. It. It was... nice.”

“ _Nice?_ It was not supposed to be nice.”

“It. It. You know, it was. It. Sufficient. You tried, and uh. So yeah, so you took down some furniture. And a couple of curtains. Caused some very minor injuries.”

Harry groans. The tips of his ears are still so pink. “This is the most humiliating thing that has ever happened.”

“It was— Haz, come on— it was okay.”

“It wasn’t supposed to be okay,” Harry mutters. “It was supposed to be, like, _sexy_.”

“And it was— in like, a humorous sort of way.”

“It was sexy in a—”

“ONE DAY,” Nick interjects, trying belatedly to regain control. “One day we’re going to look back on this and laugh.”

“Nick, you’ve already fucking laughed at this.”

Well, yes. Nick can’t really argue with that. “The curtain was bolted in with eight screws,” he argues. “ _Eight,_ Harold.”

“I— _God_.” Harry groans again into his hands. “We’re never having sex again, Nick. Never. I’m never taking my clothes off in your presence again. I’m breaking the fuck up with you. I’m—”

All the breath rushes out of Nick’s lungs in one choking exhale. “Wh—”

“Don’t,” Harry rushes to say, sounding as blindsided as Nick feels. “Friend— friend break-up. You know what— friend break-up.”

“Okay.”

Harry looks at him. “Nick.”

“Okay. No, yeah. Friend break-up. Okay, yeah. Cool, cool.”

“ _Nick_. What’re you—”

“Might shower.”

“We just show—”

Nick pulls the bathroom door tightly shut behind him, locks it, and slumps back against it. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._

“Nick,” Harry says again, sounding like he’s pressed close, just on the other side of the door. He knocks once, then again when Nick doesn’t answer. “Nick, come on.”

“Showering!”

“I can literally hear you not showering. Water’s not even on.” Harry takes a breath so deep it’s audible through the door. The hinges creak as he presses his weight against it. “I’m sorry I said that. Slip of the tongue.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Nick says, only a little hysterically.

“Yes, you did.”

“I think it’s for the best if I didn’t hear anything.”

“Nick, for fuck’s sake. I know what you heard.”

“We don’t need to talk about this.”

“I stripped so fucking badly,” Harry calls through the door, his voice shaking. “I fell over and I hurt myself and I destroyed your bedroom and it was terrible and I think I sprained my ankle. And then I said something.”

“We can pretend you didn’t.”

“Nick. For fuck’s sake. I just said all the embarrassing things out here, you need to meet me halfway.”

Nick takes a deep breath. “There’s nothing to break up, Harold. We aren’t going out.”

“I’m aware.”

“It wouldn’t work. We already agreed. Years ago.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“We don’t need to talk about any of this, Harry. Not your terrible drunk baby giraffe stripping, not—” _not you breaking my heart._

“I’m gonna make some tea,” Harry says cautiously. “And when I come back, you are going to be on the bed and we’ll both pretend this didn’t happen.”

“I don’t know if I can get your terrible stripping out of my bed, Harold. It was like watching a newborn baby cobra have an epileptic fit.”

There’s a pause, then, long and terrible and quiet, like Harry isn’t leaving to get tea. “I love you.”

Nick slams his palm against the shut door, hissing, “What the actual fuck?”

Harry shrugs. “I do. You know I do. This isn’t— you know I do. And I think you, um. Also.”

“Harold, you are saying lots of things and all of them have to stop.”

“Nick.”

“ _Harry._ ”

“I’m going to get tea,” Harry says again, his voice sounding strangely serious. “I’m going to get tea, and some frozen peas for my ankle, and then we’ll sit on the bed and pretend none of this ever happened.“

Nick hesitates. “None of it?”

“Your bedroom looks like a war zone. I don’t know how we’ll get around it.”

“It was very, very, very bad stripping.”

“I know,” Harry says, his voice so close again. Nick turns his ear against the door, closing his eyes and taking a deep, steadying breath. “We’ll talk about it when you’re ready.”


End file.
